not make this a matter of competition. This is your life. We held it in our hands and in our prayers not that long ago. Don’t ask us to do it again.”
Muireall stood, and he watched her slowly climb the stairs in the hallway. They were angry he was going to fight again? What did they expect him to do? This was what he did! Who he was! What alternative was there anyway? Be a mason or a cemetery worker or a mill flunky? But he knew what he could do. He could take up the offer that Alexander had presented him. He could stay out of the ring and make a good living—more than a good living, he suspected.
Chapter 15
Lucinda sat straight up in her bed. The handle on the balcony door in her dark room was jiggling. Her heart was pounding in her ears as she stood up, groping on her nightstand for something to defend herself with. The clock on the mantel softly chimed midnight when she opened her mouth to scream, but only a choked cry emerged. She hurried to the fireplace, reaching for a poker, her gown swaying in a cool breeze around her legs as the door slowly opened.
“Help,” she whispered and raised the iron rod above her head. The figure coming through the door was in darkness.
“Jesus, Lucinda. Put that thing down,” James said as he closed the door behind him.
“James?” she asked in a shaking cry. She held a hand to her breast and began to cry in earnest. “What on earth are you doing here? You’ve frightened me!”
“I’m sorry I scared you, but I have to talk to you, and you won’t stand still long enough for us to have a conversation.”
Lucinda shrugged into the robe over the back of the chair near the fireplace and sat on the edge of her bed, dabbing her eyes with a hankie and trying to slow her breathing. It was then she realized that James Thompson, a man, was in her bedchamber in the middle of the night and that she was in her gown and night rail.
“You must leave immediately,” she said.
He knelt before her, on his haunches, his hands hanging loosely over his knees. “I’m not leaving until you talk to me.”
“I don’t want to talk to you. You must go.”
“Why won’t you speak to me, Lucinda? What have I done? I’ll make it right.”
Fear had quickly been replaced with anger. “You can’t make it right, you foolish man. I am done with you. Don’t embarrass yourself, and me as well, by begging. It is unseemly.”
Her figure in the moonlight shining through the window as he’d opened her door was ethereal with her filmy white gown swirling around her long, thin legs. He stood slowly, staring down at the volumes of pale blond hair curling over her shoulders and down her back in waves. What was he doing here? What could he have been thinking? What if a man climbed up a rain spout to Kirsty’s or Muireall’s room? What would he have to say then? But then, this wasn’t either of his sisters.
“Please leave,” she whispered.
Why was he here? And perhaps she was right that he was embarrassing himself. He turned on his heel and walked to the balcony door. “Lock this again when I leave.”
“Why?” she asked. “It didn’t stop you.”
“Because. Because I want you safe.”
She stood and hurried to him, shaking her finger in his face and hissing her words. “And don’t you think I’m entitled to the same wants?”
He shook his head and grabbed her finger, holding it tight. “Entitled to the same what?”
Tears streaked down her cheeks. “Knowledge that you are safe too,” she whispered.
“Don’t cry, love. I can’t take it when you cry,” he said and put his hands on her shoulders.
“I don’t want to cry. But I am worried that is all I’ll ever do if you don’t stay away from me.”
He pulled her tight against him, kissing the top of her head and wiping her cheeks with his palms. He murmured soothing words in her ear until she quieted and took a long, deep breath. She gazed up at him, her lashes glistening in the moonlight, her lips parted. There was nothing between her skin and his hands but a froth of silk and lace at her back and waist. He bent his head and touched his lips to hers.
He ran his tongue around the edge of his lips until she relaxed in his